Foul Words
by Cee5
Summary: Sherlock would not flinch when others called him 'freak' but to hear the words coming out of Molly's mouth is another matter entirely. There are apologies to be made and Molly discovers that beneath the cold cover lies a sensitive heart.


Molly leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Sherlock paced from one side of the living room to the other, and finally sitting down. She knew that despite the fact he had been wrong, she had also been harsh on him. Sherlock always pretended to be cold and emotionally unaffected, but Molly knew better than anyone that that was merely a cover. She also knew that when he was upset it was best to leave him alone, let him mull over the matter and wait for the storm to pass. This had been her fault, though, and she needed to apologise, whether he accepted the apology or not.

She took a deep breath, put down the damp cloth she had been using to dry the dishes Sherlock had washed, and approached the chair he was sitting on. She could see on his profile the lips pressed together, forming a straight line.

"I'm sorry." She apologised, hands pressed together.

Sherlock didn't answer. He shook his head slightly and closed his eyes for a few moments. Molly waited, knowing it was better to let him respond to that than overwhelm him with apologies and words of regret. He opened his eyes, looked at his own feet, and finally spoke.

"You were one of the very few who had never called me that." Sherlock said, still not looking at her.

Molly contoured the chair and placed herself in front of him. He didn't look up at her.

"I didn't mean to call you that." She said.

"Then why did you do it at all?"

He finally raised his head to face her for a second, and Molly saw sadness and disappointment in his face. He fixed his gaze on the floor again.

"Sherlock…" Molly's voice was merely a whisper.

Sherlock did not look at her, running his fingers over the fabric of his trousers. Molly placed a finger on his chin, making him face her.

"I'm not a freak." Sherlock said, trying to get away from her touch.

Molly felt an ache in her heart, listening to the way he said that, the way he wanted to prove his value, that being different didn't have to be a character fault.

"I am sorry." Molly repeated.

Sherlock got up.

"You already said that."

He put on his coat and scarf.

"I'm going for a walk. Don't wait up."

Molly stood there by the chair, watching him leaving through the door, unable to do anything to stop him.

* * *

When Sherlock returned home later that night, Molly was sitting on their bed, reading a book. She closed the book and put it down on the night stand, and looked at Sherlock, a tall figure framed by the door, still wearing his coat and scarf. His hair was damp and Molly waited for him to speak first.

"I don't feel the way you lot do. My mind is practical and I may sound heartless when I speak, because none of those people matter. None of them. They are strangers and I don't have time to mourn them. If I didn't work this way I would have become useless a long time ago. Finding the culprit requires rationality, I need to be focused on what matters, and I won't change that about myself. If you want me, you have to accept me like this because I can't change who I am."

Molly stared at him for a moment and then got up. Her hair was tied in a ponytail and she was wearing one of Sherlock's pyjamas, something she always did when she was cold or sad.

"I don't want you to change who you are, but it hurts me sometimes too, and I end up saying things that I regret. Like now. You make me happy, Sherlock, but your detachment from others scares me sometimes. It scares me," She repeated. "Because one day you may stop loving me and I am not sure I will be able to deal with you treating me the way you treat some of them."

Sherlock's expression switched from determined and cold, to worried.

"No. I-" He cleared his throat. "I can't predict our future, but I do love you, and if I don't treat you as you deserve it's not because I mean to. I just can't help getting angry at times, and I take it on people-"

"I didn't mean what I said when I called you a freak, either. You're not a freak. You're just… you. And it is truth I want to kill you at times, and I hate your detachment, but mostly you're good to me. Nobody's perfect and I can live with that. I love you, but I will say things I don't mean in the heat of the moment, too."

Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, threw them onto a chair, and approached Molly. He held her, placing his chin on top of her head. Molly placed an open hand on his chest, enjoying the closeness, his warm body against hers.

"Let's go to bed." She said, and pulled him by the hand.

Sherlock removed his clothes and lay down next to her. Molly turned on her side, facing him.

"Come here." Sherlock whispered, pulling Molly to him.

Molly smiled and adjusted herself in his arms.

"Am I forgiven?" She asked, speaking in the same tone.

Sherlock kissed her on the forehead.

"We'll see."

And raising his free arm over her, Sherlock turned off the light.


End file.
